


Socially Inept

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their beverage of choice was vodka, and a lot of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socially Inept

**Author's Note:**

> I believe the prompt dropped to me was "What did Mulder and Scully do with that FBI credit card? Got hammered and fornicated." Thanks, mariemaru. And also many thanks to Marigold, who has to suffer through massive amounts of porn just for being my beta. I'm so sorry, honey.

"Mulder, I've come to the conclusion that we're socially inept."

The only thing between her and a hundred bottles of assorted   
high-end liquor is a long, shiny mahogany bar, its comfortable   
chrome-and-black stools empty except for the two of them.

"What do you mean?" Mulder's watching people walked by, people   
dressed up just like them, laughing and heading out the door to   
enjoy the Los Angeles nightlife. He finishes up his third vodka   
tonic and spins the glass on the countertop.

"Well," she says, taking a long sip of her pomegranate martini.   
It has an addictive sweet burn that slides over her tongue, but   
it burns a little less than the first did, and definitely less   
than the second. "We were given a Bureau credit card for our free   
and potentially irresponsible use this evening, and the best   
thing we could come up with was to head back to the hotel bar."

"It's a nice bar," he muses. She rolls her eyes. He notices. "Is   
it not a nice bar?"

"Yes, Mulder. It's a wonderful bar. But it's a bar."

"Well, what would you rather have done, Scully? I'm all ears."

She finishes off the martini and catches the eye of the   
bartender--it isn't hard. He's been watching her all night with a   
look in his eyes that's less than chaste. It's admittedly made   
her a little happier to be there after all. He quickly supplies   
her with another apple martini.

"It's on me," he says with a wink. Mulder's face is priceless.   
The bartender walks away and she feels a flush spread across her   
cheeks. It's not just the alcohol.

"Dana Scully. I think you're enjoying this a little more than you   
let on." Mulder says it just loud enough for the bartender to   
hear, she's sure of it. She gives him a glare and he smirks,   
tapping his empty glass on the wood until the bartender slides   
him another drink.

"Is this one on you, too?" Mulder says under his breath.

She gulps down the martini, feeling lightheaded from her first   
three drinks. Four. She's now had four. She tries to ignore the   
fact that she's fifteen minutes away from stumbling drunk. She   
lifts an eyebrow at him, her voice like honey. "Aw, what's the   
matter, Mulder?"

"Nothin'," he says, drinking his own vodka equally as quickly. He   
smiles at her. "Just a trained eye making an observation."

"Guys hit on me sometimes, Mulder," she says with a shrug of one   
shoulder. She can't help the tiny smile that emerges. "What can I   
say? It's a great way to get free drinks."

"I'm sure he's extremely concerned about your hydration," he   
says.

"Of course." She licks a drip of vodka sliding down from the rim   
of her glass, knowing it'll knock Mr. Trained Eye down a notch.   
It does. His tongue runs over his upper lip as he stares at her a   
second too long before averting his eyes to the revolving door at   
the hotel entrance.

"Mulder?" Her voice is low and steady and she nearly makes   
herself shiver. The delicious effects of the alcohol are now   
steadily radiating through her body, from head to torso to toe   
and everywhere in between.

"Yeah?" He casts a sideways glance at her.

"You asked me what I'd rather have done. Than sit here at the   
bar." Her lips and cheeks feel a little numb now as she tries to   
sound coherent and as sober as possible.

"Whatever you want to do now, it's going to have to be within   
walking distance."

Her eyes flicker over him as he lounges on the barstool, still in   
his tuxedo from the movie premiere. When she saw him dressed in   
that before they'd left the hotel, her breath had literally   
caught in her throat. She'd tried not to seem too flustered. He'd   
smelled like Armani, his tan neck meeting the crisp white of his   
dress shirt, his hair perfect, his smile genuine as he'd taken a   
fair look at her, too, and told her she looked "Nice."

She'd learned to take what she could get from this man. In fact,   
the night had her wondering just how much she could actually get   
from him after all.

"It's only a short walk," she murmurs, placing her hand on his   
arm. She uses the rare tone of voice he knows well by now. It's   
been a short few months since she'd first let him hear it and it   
still feels new and exciting. Everything does.

He turns his head to look at her with a playful smile. "I see."

Her toes start to twiddle in her brand new Kate Spade heels as   
she keeps his gaze, biting her lower lip and running her hand up   
his arm, back down again, resting it on top of his.

"All right. Let's go." He stands up and tugs on her hand. She   
sees the hint of jealousy in the bartender's eyes as she gives   
him an apologetic smile when she passes him by.  
_________________________________________________

A few seconds after the elevator doors close, she's not entirely   
convinced they'll make it back to her room. His mouth is hot and   
needy on hers--he's stooping to press her up against the mirrored   
paneling, his hand in her hair. She moans into his mouth as their   
tongues slide together, her fingers fumbling with his zipper,   
pulling it down and sliding her hand inside before they hit the   
second floor. Five to go. He groans and thrusts against her when   
her hand meets the hot, smooth skin beneath his boxers.

"Scully," he whispers against her lips. "You're so bad. So bad."

She's panting and slides her hand up his smooth cock, back down,   
staring into his eyes, feeling herself tingle at his soft,   
satisfied moan. The elevator dings at the seventh floor and she   
jumps, yanking her hand away. He zips up just as quickly.

There's no one in the hallway, and it's a good thing as she   
fumbles in her clutch for the keycard. He pushes her up against   
the door, grinding his hardness into her back.

"Oh Jesus, not here," she whispers as his hand slides up her   
thigh, under her dress.

"You'd better open that door soon," he warns, a growl as he tugs   
on her panties.

Her fingers graze the keycard and she opens the door, actually,   
he nearly pushes her through it. She stumbles a little in her   
too-high-for-drinking heels and he catches her around the waist   
as the door closes behind them. His hands slide up to her   
breasts, cupping them, kneading them roughly and she whimpers.

"How about here?" He says. "Right here, in front of the door?"

She manages to laugh with the breath she has left. "Wherever."

"Oh, the possibilities," he murmurs. He pulls down the zipper at   
the back of her little black dress and pushes the sleeves off her   
shoulders. She closes her eyes as she feels it pile around her   
feet. His shirt grazes her back as his fingers flick at the front   
clasp of her bra. It falls open and his palms greet her hardened   
nipples. She moans at his cool hands against her heated skin.

She turns her head and he kisses her mouth, off-center, lips   
working harder than usual to find their place on her mouth. She   
kisses him back languidly, tastes the tang of vodka, the   
saltiness of the bar peanuts he inhaled, the ones she wouldn't   
touch.

"Mulder, you're so drunk." She giggles as his lips move down to   
her neck. It tickles, it tingles. She fails to note to him that   
she's completely wasted. It feels nice. It's been way too long.

"I'm functionally drunk. All Mulders are functional drunks." His   
tongue flicks against her bare shoulder as his fingers tease her   
nipples to even harder peaks.

"Are you?" Her hand snakes between them and grazes against the   
hardness at her back. He hisses a little and takes her earlobe in   
his mouth.

"Completely functionally drunk." One of his hands slides down her   
flat stomach and inside of her panties. She whimpers as a shiver   
passes over her body, but resists the urge to fall back into him.   
She must be strong. Strong, strong Scully. Strong, strong vodka.

"Oh yeah," she whispers. "Why don't you show me how functional   
you really are?"

______________________________________________________

The soft piled carpet rubbing against her bare belly and breasts   
is juxtaposed with the cool, crisp starch of his tuxedo shirt on   
her back as he's pinned her down onto the floor of the hotel   
room. They'd made it an epic three feet inside the door after she   
dropped that "functional" line and it had all ended there--he'd   
growled into her ear and pulled her down with him and she'd   
landed on her stomach with an ooof in a dizzying, satisfactory   
plunge.

She moans as she feels him wiggling off his slick dress pants,   
his bare legs a little scratchy against her soft, newly-shaven   
skin. "I'll show you," he mutters as he thrusts his hips against   
her bottom, barely covered in her black lace panties. She feels   
him hot, hard, straining through his boxers and she tilts her   
head back with a pant, her fingers digging into the carpet.

She feels his bare cock against her ass, knows he's shoved his   
boxers down just enough to get the job done. A split second of   
invention occurs to her through her fuzzy, vodka-hazy mind--  
somebody should make panties with sides that tear off and mend   
easily. Snap buttons. Velcro. Something. Anything. She needs them   
off and she needs them off now.

"Get them off," she demands on a breath, and he has to roll to   
her side to yank her panties down her legs. She's wet and slick   
as he slides his hand sideways through her folds, his teeth on   
her neck.

"Just checkin'," he breathes, licking his fingers next to her   
cheek. She can smell the vodka mingling with the slight scent of   
her arousal. She whimpers and spreads her legs a little more,   
stealing a peripheral glance at him and licking her upper lip. He   
takes the cue and slides over her, pinning her again. She tilts   
her hips and meets his thrust, deep and quick, all the way in.

"Oh, fuck," she groans. She presses her back up against him, his   
shirt rubbing against her as he strokes in and out of her slowly,   
deliciously slow.

"That's...the idea," he breathes in between hard thrusts. Her   
head is spinning, her pussy is throbbing around him, and all she   
hears is a little voice in her head getting louder. More, more,   
more.

"More," she repeats outloud to the little voice. Mulder lets out   
a low, throaty laugh as he catches her earlobe between his teeth.   
She squirms under him, circling her hips, beckoning him closer.   
One of his hands tangles in her hair and he starts driving into   
her faster. She can't hold herself up any longer and lets her   
body fall flat onto the carpet, succumbing to the impending   
threat of rugburn on her upper torso.

He presses herinto the carpet and she's overwhelmed by all of it-  
-his ragged breath in her ear, his cock wetly sliding, his   
fingers pulling on her hair, the dull pain of her body rubbing   
against the carpet, harder, faster. She's whimpering with the   
burn and pleasure of every thrust, and he catches on that she's   
becoming one with the floor. He slides an arm around her waist,   
pulling her up onto all fours. He gets on his knees between her   
legs and is fucking her before she even grasps the concept of   
changing positions.

Mulder grabs her hips and owns her, directs her. It takes her a   
few seconds to catch up, and when she does, she gets to slide her   
fingers down between her legs and stroke her aching clit, swollen   
and demanding somebody's attention.

"Scully," he pants as he fills her up over and over again. "Jesus   
fucking Christ, Scully."

She ignores the gold cross slapping against her throat with every   
one of his powerful strokes. Her fingers work harder and faster   
and he finally notices. He puts his hand over hers and pulls hers   
away and she groans, squeezing her eyes shut. Then he takes over,   
slowing his thrusts so he can concentrate on rubbing her wetness   
over her clit in circles with the rough pads of his fingers.

"Mulder," she moans as she feels herself tingling more, from head   
to toe, centered at his fingers, spreading like a warm wave,   
edging closer and closer.

"That's right," he breathes, sliding one hand up to her shoulder,   
the other one furiously working between her legs. "That's right,   
Scully. Yeah, you're going to come so hard."

He thrusts. Hard. Her mouth drops open a little as she's   
shamelessly panting and grinding into him now, her eyes still   
closed, as she whimpers and arches her back. The first wave of   
pleasure hits hard and she tenses around his cock, pulling him   
deeper as she comes. She hears him groan and she answers him with   
another louder whimper. She's shuddering, on fire, and he grabs   
her hips with both hands and starts pounding into her faster   
while she's still twitching around him.

"Yeahyeahyeah." She urges him on, wants to hear him come, wants   
to feel his fingernails embedded deep into her hips. Wants him to   
leave marks. Wants to remember it in every imaginable way.   
"Please, Mulder, please."

"Oh, Jesus." He slides into her easily and she hears his body   
hitting her bottom, feels his balls slapping her clit and she   
tilts her hips, moaning louder through her pants. She's a little   
surprised when she feels herself coming again, hard and fast. He   
groans loudly. Apparently he's surprised too. It's a treat, she   
thinks as she shivers around him, her muscles milking his cock as   
her whole body goes rigid under him.

A few more quick, jerky thrusts is all he can manage before he   
comes into her with a groan she is completely certain the next   
door neighbors can hear, and probably the ones across the hall,   
perhaps even a few floors down. Hopefully they're among the   
masses of people with better things to do on an L.A. evening.

If only they knew what they were missing.

\- end -


End file.
